


Five Times Sherlock gave John a Pebble and One Time John Returned the Gesture

by grimmfairy



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John is oblivious, Love Confessions, M/M, Pebbles, Penguins are good role models, Sherlock is nervous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:17:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1207435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmfairy/pseuds/grimmfairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt by navydream on tumblr: So penguins bring rocks to their mates and Sherlock somehow fond out about this… and suddenly, John starts finding all sorts of pebbles, starting from the ordinary to a rare moon stone.</p><p>Sherlock isn't good with words, so he decides to tell John his feelings the way penguins do, by bringing him pebbles with different meanings. John catches on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Sherlock gave John a Pebble and One Time John Returned the Gesture

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [五次Sherlock送John一颗石头，一次John给出回赠](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1226827) by [SN_Blaugrana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SN_Blaugrana/pseuds/SN_Blaugrana)



> Check out navydream on tumblr. Awesome stuff there.  
> http://navydream.tumblr.com/

1.

It was past nine at night and John was tired. The flu was going around, so anyone with the sniffles was flocking to the hospital demanding antibiotics whether they needed them or not. He had spent an entire shift explaining to ninety percent of "flu" cases that what they had was the common cold and he couldn't prescribe them anything. And then there were the actual flu patients. John decided he would lucky if he didn't get some mutant influenza from one of them. He trudged upstairs, not bothering to acknowledge his flat mate elbows-deep in an experiment. Seriously, he was stained up to his elbows in something suspicious and John didn't particularly want to know what it was. He took off his jumper and shoes, getting comfortable as he rolled his neck to relieve some of the stress of the day. A cup of tea was what he needed, but John knew that venturing into the kitchen during Sherlock's experiment would only result in getting insulted and John didn't feel like punching his friend today.

He laid down on his bed, intending to doze for an hour or two before going to get his tea, Sherlock's experiment be damned. He shifted uncomfortably as something pressed insistently into the back of his neck. Something smooth and cold and small. John reached behind his neck and his fingers closed over something round. He brought it up to his face and examined it. A small brown pebble, about the size of a marble, with grey veins of some mineral running through it. John was curious and rolled it around in his fingers. Sherlock must have put it there, though John had no idea why. Maybe he was conducting another experiment. While John generally disapproved of being Sherlock's subject, he supposed that as long as he wasn't drugged and his things weren't set on fire, he could live with it. He set the small pebble on his bedside table, in the dish that held a few coins and a spare key to the flat.

Sherlock didn't acknowledge him later when he went down for tea, so John didn't ask him about the small rock. Sherlock must have had a reason for giving it to him.

2.

Sherlock didn't mention the little rock he had left on John's pillow in the week that followed. John kept it in the little dish on his bedside table, feeling strangely attached to it. But he had begun to forget the whole incident until the day he had to fill in for a morning shift at the hospital.

John stared at the pebble on his desk. How Sherlock (he assumed it was Sherlock) had managed to get the pebble in his office without getting caught, John wasn't sure. But nevertheless, there it was. A smooth lump of what looked like black obsidian sat serenely on his keyboard. John picked it up and examined it in the light, noting the smooth texture and non-spherical shape. John checked his watch. He still had another few hours of morning shift so he settled into his chair and researched the type of stone Sherlock had left for him. He ended up on a website that described the different "metaphysical" properties of obsidian. Apparently it was good for grounding energy or something like that. John rolled his eyes. Sherlock probably knew that already and was poking fun at John's lingering "absurd grasp of the spiritual". Still...

John slipped the pebble into his pocket and when he finally got back to Baker Street it joined the brown one in the dish. Sherlock as per usual ignored him except to ask to borrow John's phone.

3.

"Sherlock, I got the shopping. Any chance of some help in here?" John called idly. He knew Sherlock would ignore him since he was obviously doing his mind-palace thing, fingers twitching while his eyes remained fixed on a point in the distance. He rolled his eyes and set about putting the items he had bought away. He reached up to replenish their supply of tea with fresh stuff and his hand grazed a small object. He closed his fingers around it, already knowing what it was. It had only been three days since the little black pebble showed up on his desk.

This one was different. It had a look of being half-formed. It was about twice the size of a marble, and a jagged whole allowed glimpses inside at the deep blue crystals inside. John stroked the rough outer surface with his thumb meditatively. Sherlock had bumped into him in the hallway right after he got out of the shower with only a towel around his waist. Sherlock's eyes had laser-focused on John's scar and he reached out to touch it, stopping about an inch short. John had nodded, heart rate increasing and blood rushing to his face as gentle fingers probed and traced the scar tissue. Sherlock had asked if it ever acted up, and John had nodded slowly, knowing Sherlock could read every emotion on his face.

The geode glinted in his hand, dragging him back to the present. Sherlock was up and about, asking for tea and fully aware of John standing there with the pebble. He made eye contact with his flatmate, something pleading in Sherlock's eyes that John didn't quite understand. Then it was gone.

4.

"You...You-" John threw his hands up. "No, you know what? Never mind. Why should it matter what I say? You don't care."

John stormed out of the flat, leaving Sherlock to hopefully consider why John was frustrated. Apparently, John had ruined some kind of mold experiment when he washed the kitchen sink. Sherlock had arrived in a flurry of waving arms and wild curls, shouting at him about intelligent thought and the like. It wasn't the first time John had been on the receiving end of Sherlock's wrath, but today he was just not equipped to handle it. He had suffered through a long day of "team training" or whatever the drivel was called. Something about making the staff at the hospital work better as a team. They had to do it in shifts. And it had grated on John's nerves to no end.

John walked back into the flat feeling less angry with Sherlock and less tense thanks to some alone time and a drink at the pub with Lestrade. The detective was sprawled on the sofa in his dressing gown and he didn't move when John walked past him to get to the stairs.

"You're wrong, you know," Sherlock mumbled. John did a double take.

"Excuse me?"

"I do care about what you have to say." Sherlock shifted. "Sometimes I just don't listen."

John paused for a minute and then continued up the stairs. That was closest to an apology he was going to get, he figured. Of course, as soon as he set foot in his room, he realized he was wrong.

A small pile of pebbles, each a different shade of quartz, was on his pillow. John couldn't help it. He smiled as he carefully added them to his growing collection. It was a weird thing, these little gifts from Sherlock, but they were endearing in a way. Proof that Sherlock actually noticed that he lived with another human being.

5.

"Sherlock, come out of there," John knocked on Sherlock's bedroom door again. "Talk to me."

No answer. John sighed and moved away. Sherlock had pressed a pebble into his hand and kissed him.

Kissed him. Sherlock. Had kissed him. John ran a hand through his hair. Of course the self-proclaimed straight man hadn't reacted that well, pushing Sherlock away in shock. Sherlock had bolted to his room with a muttered apology and wouldn't come out. He had been in there for over an hour. John sat in his red armchair heavily, head in his hands, trying to think of a solution to this problem.

Certainly kissing Sherlock had been...nice, yes, very nice. Sherlock had soft lips and he kissed with great passion, if not experience. John cursed himself mentally again. He had been thinking about doing this very thing to Sherlock, kissing him senseless, and then he freaked out when the opposite happened. He stared at this latest stone. It was a beautiful rainbow moonstone about the size of a large grape. John pulled out his laptop and searched for the meaning behind this stone.

Oh.

John felt the air rush out of him.

Love. Moonstones were...love.

Sherlock had told him he loved him, and he had pushed him away.

He had to fix this. He grabbed his coat and headed out.

+1.

Sherlock sat motionless on his bed, examining his hands. He had read in a book that penguins brought their potential mates pebbles as a sign of their affections. It seemed so much simpler, easier, than telling John outright and John had seemed to enjoy the little gifts. He had made sure to start small to make sure John would react favorably, slowly graduating to more meaningful stones. John would appreciate the meanings behind them since he still held onto a few superstitions.

Then with shaking hands and nervous fluttering in his stomach, he had presented John with a rock that meant love. He had been so sure. John showed so many signs of being attracted to him, beyond the physical and into the emotional. He had thought that maybe John felt...something. Anything. But he had pushed him away. Sherlock fled from the revulsion he was sure to find in John's eyes.

Sherlock wasn't sure how long he had been sitting alone in his room when a rustling at the base of his door roused him. Something was slipped under the door. Sherlock walked over and picked it up. A small stone, a piece of gravel from a very specific place. He opened the door to find John sitting on the couch. He patted the cushion next to him and Sherlock hesitantly joined him, building walls around himself. John was holding a dish full of multicolored pebbles, the moonstone displayed prominently on top.

"You know where that gravel is from?" John asked.

"Outside Bart's," Sherlock answered shortly.

"The place I met you," John added. "The place I met you, and my life changed."

"John-"

"No, I realize I reacted...badly. But I want you to know something. I didn't push you away because I don't want you. Believe me, I want you, as much of you as you are willing to give," John smiled, grasping Sherlock's hand. "I pushed you away because I just couldn't believe that you were really...kissing me, that the stones you left for me meant what I had only hoped they did." John closed the distance between Sherlock and himself, pulling his flatmate closer and wrapping his arms around him.

"Penguins," Sherlock muttered against John as they brushed lips.

"What?" John asked. Sherlock just pressed himself against John, capturing the smaller man's mouth again. This time, John responded with everything he had.

The dish of pebbles fell to the ground and John would pick up the scattered contents later. But for now, they could wait.


End file.
